North's Perspective — After Cedar's Departure
The sanctum was silent after she left.
Too silent.
The frostbed where Raka had lain was empty, its sacred ice still glowing faintly green where Cedar's divinity had lingered. The air no longer carried the scent of cold alone. Life had intruded. Warmth. Possession.
I stood where I was, unmoving.
I had let her take him.
That truth pressed heavier than any blade.
Cedar Puregreen was not careless. She was powerful, ancient, and precise. If Raka were anyone else, I would have trusted her completely.
But he was not anyone else.
He was my brother.
And she loved him in a way that frightened even the gods.
I closed my eyes briefly.
The corruption within Raka had not vanished. I felt it clearly, like embers smothered beneath fresh snow was sight of Lust-Greed-Sloth. Three sins woven together by demonic will, engraved not only flesh but also in mind.
Cedar had not erased them.
She had embraced him despite them.
That was the danger.
The Angels wete Unease.
The angels remained where they were, unsure whether they were dismissed or forgotten.
General Noxelle was the first to break formation.
Her wings folded slowly, tension still etched into every line of her posture.
"She took him without waiting for your consent," she said quietly.
"I allowed it," I replied.
Noxelle's jaw tightened.
"That does not make it safe."
She was right.
Saint Samuel stepped forward, his gaze lingering on the empty frostbed.
"The corruption reacted when her divinity touched him," he said solemnly. "It did not only retreat but also It adapted."
A pause.
"…I fear it learned something."
So did I.
Cedar's power was life itself. And demonic corruption thrived on desire.
Her obsession might soothe Raka Or deepen what already festered within him.
Saint Samuel's Concerned.
Saint Samuel knelt beside the frostbed and placed his palm against the ice.
"Lord North," he said, not looking up. "Do you regret letting her take him?"
The question was dangerous.
I answered anyway.
"No," I said. "But I fear the cost."
He nodded slowly.
"Love does not purify corruption," Samuel said. "It gives it shape."
A hard truth.
Raka's divinity was fractured. Cedar's affection would keep him alive, perhaps even smiling.
But when Lust stirred, it would borrow her warmth.
When Greed whispered, it would crave what she gave freely.
And for Sloth...
Sloth would tempt him to surrender responsibility entirely.
To be held.
To be kept.
I clenched my fist.
If Raka stopped fighting himself…
No god could save him then.
Yuria stood near the lesser saints, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
She had not spoken since Cedar's departure.
I observed her quietly.
Her breathing was uneven, shallow in a way that betrayed restraint rather than panic. Her gaze lingered on the place where the portal had collapsed, as if she half-expected it to open again.
"Yuria," I called.
She flinched.
"My lord," she said at once, bowing her head. "I… I apologize. I couldn't help him."
"You spoke the truth," I replied. "That is enough."
She hesitated, fingers curling against her sleeves.
Then she spoke again, her voice lower.
"When the Goddess of Nature arrived," Yuria said softly, "something inside me… went quiet."
I turned my attention fully to her.
"Quiet?" I asked.
She nodded.
"As if whatever allows me to perceive the world clearly chose to withdraw," she said. "It wasn't fear. It was more like… refusal."
Her hands trembled despite her effort to stay composed.
"It felt wrong," she continued. "Not dangerous in the way enemies are dangerous. But unstable. Like something that shouldn't be moving yet… had already begun."
Silence followed her words.
A presence so overwhelming that even perception itself recoiled.
That alone was unsettling.
"…It felt like witnessing a future that doesn't belong to the present," Yuria whispered.
I understood more than I wished to.
And the understanding left frost in my chest.
North's Private Resolve!!
When the sanctum finally emptied, I remained alone.
The ice seals dissolved one by one.
I placed my hand where my brother had rested.
"I should have protected you better," I murmured.
The frost answered with silence.
Cedar had taken him to her palace.
A place of life.
Of safety.
Of obsession disguised as care.
If Raka lost himself there.....
I would be forced to act.
Not as his brother.
But as the God of Preservation.
I straightened slowly.
"Watch him," I whispered to the unseen winds. "Watch them both."
.....
A Quiet Room of Ice
After the Goddess of Nature, Cedar Puregreen, departed from the Sanctuary of Preservation, Lady Noxelle escorted me to my resting chamber.
It was located barely two hundred meters from the private quarters of North Frozenlight.
The room was vast and warmly arranged, its walls carved from pale ice that reflected a soft, comforting glow. It was nothing like the cramped room I had known before my transmigration. Everything here felt deliberate designed for recovery.
Servants attended to me quietly, placing a carefully prepared meal beside the bed. I was treated not as a guest, but as a patient someone fragile enough to require rest, yet important enough to be protected.
After eating, I lay back against the pillows.
The bed was far too soft.
Too gentle for a place ruled by ice.
Staring at the frost-patterned ceiling, my thoughts drifted inward.
About this world. About my place within it. About how easily fate had carried me here and how little choice I truly had.
For the first time since waking, there was silence.
And in that silence, I began to think about myself.
Not as a survivor.
But as someone who would have to decide what to become
Before the Transmigration
Before I crossed worlds, I believed my way of seeing was normal.
I noticed details easily. I remembered stories, patterns, endings. When I read novels, I often felt a strange familiarity with certain scenes, as if I already knew how things would unfold. I thought it was intuition. Or habit. Or simply reading too much.
Sometimes, reality felt… thin.
I would pause mid-step, sensing that something bad was about to happen without knowing why. I avoided places without reason. I felt drawn to books with darker themes, as if they were quietly calling me.
But I never questioned it.
I was human.
And humans don't question the world they adapt to it.
When the truck hit me, my first thought wasn't fear.
It was clarity.
So this is how it ends.
That acceptance frightened me later.
After the Transmigration
After I opened my eyes in this world, I understood.
My perception had not been sharpened.
It had been redirected.
I no longer simply saw events I sensed their weight. The way fate leaned toward certain outcomes. The way silence could scream louder than words. The way powerful beings distorted the world around them without trying.
In the divine halls, I noticed things others ignored.
How angels stiffened before speaking.
How gods chose words like weapons.
How some presences felt… premature. As if they existed before they were meant to.
When the Goddess of Nature appeared, my awareness did something strange.
It didn't fail.
It withdrew.
Like an instinct refusing to look at something unfinished, unstable, or too early to exist.
Later, alone, I realized the truth.
Before, I observed stories.
Now, I stood inside one.
Before, I saw what was happening.
Now, I felt what should not yet happen.
And that terrified me more than blood, demons, or death ever could.
Because once your perception changes.
You can never go back to seeing the world the same way again.